In Flight (Up in the Air #1)(87)

“No,” I sobbed. “I don’t know what people you’re talking about. I didn’t tell him anything. I swear it.”

My words were useless. They always were. My father was a man of action. He grabbed my arm with one hand, punching me in the side with the other. He always spread his punches out. He caught a spot at my back and my spine bowed in pain.

He swept my legs out from under me. I went down easily. He kicked me once, hard, in the back. He walked around me, bringing a booted heel to my neck. “It would be easier than taking a simple step for me to kill you. You understand this? My weight alone will crush your windpipe. Is this how you want to die? Because if you tell anyone what I did to your mother, there is no reason why I shouldn’t kill you. I would not hesitate. Do you understand, sotnos?”

“Yes,” I croaked out. It was a struggle to get that one word out with that huge boot on my neck.

He picked me up, effortlessly propping me back on my feet. “And your man needs to quit poking around in my business.” He raised an enormous fist above me, bringing it down on the back of my head. My world went black.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Epilogue

I awoke to the biggest, baddest headache of my life. It was a doozy. I wanted to sink back into unconsciousness immediately. It was my first conscious thought.

I opened my eyes the tiniest crack. It made the pain even worse, so I shut them again.

I’m in a hospital, was my second conscious thought. Everything, from the way I was propped up, to the smell, to all of the little beeps, clued me in. My third thought was that my head wasn’t the only thing wrong with me. Almost every part of my body throbbed, head to toe.

My hands seemed to be unharmed. My right hand was clutched in a warm, hard hand. I knew that it must be Stephan at my side, and I felt better just from the knowledge of his steady presence. I was in bad shape, but I was alive. And I had Stephan.

I made a second attempt to open my eyes. It was marginally more successful than the first try, but agonizing pain still shot through my temples. I glanced toward the man sitting at my right. I was more than a little unsettled to see that it wasn’t Stephan.

Golden-brown hair trailed into an achingly beautiful face as James leaned over my hand, his face stark and desolate, his eyes red, his pretty mouth pursed as though he were in pain. He had the posture of someone who had been sitting slumped over that way for hours, if not days. He looked so tragic that way, and so heart-achingly handsome, that I felt an instant softening towards him. I wasn’t thinking very clearly, but I tried to reach out briefly to comfort him.

My arm didn’t move much, but I was able to grip his hand with a tiny, reassuring squeeze.

His head shot up, his eyes searching. Those vibrant blue eyes looked on the verge of tears. It was surreal to see him like that. He swallowed hard.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. He reached over and pushed a button just to my right, but behind me. And then both of his hands gripped mine, stroking it softly.

My voice was raspy and weak, but I answered him. “Alive.”

He blinked, and a tear slipped down the planes of that perfect golden cheek.

I blinked at him, wondering if I was dreaming. This was such a strange James that sat in front of me, nearly a stranger. But then again, he had always been a stranger. Hadn’t he?

“Where’s Stephan?” I asked him. It hurt to talk, so I vowed to keep my talking to a minimum.

“He went to get coffee. He’s been glued to your side.” He nodded at a spot on the other side of me. There was another chair placed right at my side. “He’s even been sleeping there.”

I processed his words, then almost immediately broke my vow of silence. “How long have I been out?”

He lowered his head, touching his forehead to my hand. “Three days. Forever.”

I sighed, feeling a little relieved. It could have been worse. “How long have you been here?” I asked him.

His face looked impossibly tired as he gazed down at our joined hands. “I showed up at your house as the ambulance was taking you away. We followed it to the hospital. Stephan and I were both just minutes too late…”

“You came to my house early,” I said, a small thread of accusation in my voice.

He just nodded. “Yes. But not early enough,” he said, and I could tell that he was blaming himself for what had happened, for showing up too late to stop it, which was crazy, of course.

I supposed, in a disconnected kind of way, that someone who needed so badly to be in control, must also feel the need to take a disproportionate amount of responsibility for things, even things that were completely out of his control. I squeezed his hand.

“How long have you been at the hospital?” I asked again.

He just blinked at me. “Since then, Love. Do you think I could leave you like this?”

My brow furrowed. “Don’t you have work to do?”

He laughed, and it was a rusty sound. “I’m taking some time off.”

I noticed for the first time that the private room we were in was filled to bursting with flowers. They ranged from exotic bouquets, to decadent roses, to simple carnations. It seemed that every flower was represented in the many vases around the room.

“You did this,” I said, as I took it all in.

He kissed my hand. “Not just me,” he said. “The white lilies are from Stephan. And those sunflowers are from Damien and Murphy. The mixed wildflowers are from your airline. And that mixed bouquet is from a group of flight attendants from your class. I got the rest.”